


Special Little Screw You

by coffeeincluded



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blasphemy, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Fluff and Smut, Minor Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary, Minor Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Sex in your hated enemy's bed, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24051304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeincluded/pseuds/coffeeincluded
Summary: “So you’re going to open Rhea's room up to everyone?” Bernadetta whined. Ugh, and she had just found a nice quiet spot away from everyone, complete with a little gardening project!“Right now, no,” Hubert hastily reassured her. They’d made it back inside, where he could more thoroughly kiss her out of sight from anybody who thought to look up. “But in time, that is one of four possibilities. Other possibilities included turning her room into a memorial of sorts, to help prevent such gross excesses from happening again. Of course there is also merit in just letting it rot away unseen. There is a certain vindictiveness in letting the Archbishop’s iron grip rust away and be forgotten in just a few generations.” Hubert paused. “And sometimes I am seized with the desire to indulge in some harmless pettiness and show my utter contempt for the Church by destroying the place.”There was something about the way Hubert said that last sentence that made Bernadetta shiver. Maybe it was the way his spindly fingers clutched her waist, or his warm breath tickling her ear.What better way to show your hatred towards the church than screwing your lover in the archbishop's bed?
Relationships: Bernadetta von Varley/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 11
Kudos: 69
Collections: Hubernie Week





	Special Little Screw You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Day 5(?) Hubernie Prompt: Taste!
> 
> And yep, it's more smut. Because apparently it's like freaking potato chips: you can't write just one. Thank the Hubernie Server for enabling me here.
> 
> Anyway, I'm still pretty new at this but I hope you all enjoy! Please let me know what you think if you feel up to it!

After everything she’d seen, everything she’d learned about Rhea’s true form and who she was and what she had done (or rather, didn’t do, which in some ways was even worse than what was done), Bernie half-expected Rhea’s personal garden to be full of thorns and vines. Or maybe a bunch of caged-up plants growing in pots way too small as some sort of heavy-handed metaphor. 

But it was...a balcony. Just a balcony. A really nice balcony, with fountains and gardens that were overgrown from several years of being ignored but could easily be restored with just a little bit of hard work. The plants that were growing here had clearly been well-cared for, and even with years of neglect they were still hanging on. Bernadetta was pretty sure she could bring them back!

It would be nice to save something, these days. 

“Don’t worry, little guys,” she said to the plants. “Bernie’s gonna take good care of you! Let’s see, start with the weeding, we’ve got plenty of wyvern dung for fertilizer…”

“My my, I didn’t think you would be the first person to come up here. Though in retrospect it does make a certain amount of sense.”

“Yah!” Panic-honed battle instincts left Bernie drawing a phantom arrow; she dropped her battle stance upon recognizing that tall, slim figure, dark hair, and...ah, the cloth flower pinned to his uniform. “Hubert, don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“My apologies. I did not expect to see anyone up here.”

“Well yeah, that’s why I’m here!” She didn’t really want to hide back in her room again--that would probably just end up triggering old habits that she was finally getting under control--but sometimes it was just too much and she needed to be alone. Few people had come up to Rhea’s room since the war started and their Professor (no, just Byleth now) vanished. Edelgard had come up once, but she left shortly after, saying something about how she wasn’t sure whether to make it a reminder of Rhea’s atrocities or trash the place, but that either way a decision should probably wait until after the tyrant was truly overthrown. 

So the Black Eagle Strike Force rebuilt the monastery into their base, tore down the emblems of Seiros and raised their own banners, and all the while Rhea’s bedchambers remained undisturbed, collecting dust. Sure people walked in and out of these sometimes, but never for long. As long as Byleth was missing (though she had recently returned) and the war ground to a brutal stalemate (but even that was breaking open), the bedchambers felt...haunted. There were demons to be exorcised from there first. All this was to say that Bernadetta came up here because she was reasonably sure that she’d be alone and _not get interrupted!_

Though, okay, to be fair, if someone had to interrupt her personal time, Hubert was probably the best person to do it. 

Hubert was also a rather private man, so their kisses tended to be in quiet, stolen-away places like this anyway. As sinister as he was, he was also so careful when it came to initiating affection, both because of his unfamiliarity with it and because she needed to be eased into such things. Bernie might never be one for big swooping kisses that came by surprise, but that was okay. Hubert’s gloved hand in her hair, his lips thin and dry and soft against hers, that was nice too. It was quiet and private and _theirs_. 

“I don’t really wanna leave,” Bernadetta mumbled into Hubert’s embrace. “It’s nice and quiet up here, and nobody’s going to bother us. It’s okay that I’m here, right?”

“Of course it is,” he chuckled into her hair. “The monastery is ours. Rhea and her lackeys are gone; there is no rule forbidding our presence. It just became a habit of sorts. One that I would not mind breaking at this point.”

“Really? But wasn’t it Edelgard who was the first to basically bar the door and not touch this place?”

Hubert nodded, his gloved hands warm as they played across the ridges of her ribs and spine. Bernie retaliated with a thumb scrubbed along the underside of _his_ more prominent ribs, and felt a flicker of glee at his reflexive jerk. “Do you want me to answer your question or watch me squirm? Lady Edelgard considered using this room for her personal quarters, but quickly decided against it. Even though there would be more space to operate and such a setting is more fitting for an Emperor, Lady Edelgard believed that it would send the wrong message.”

Bernadetta thought she understood. “Like a replacing one tyrant with another sort of thing?”

“Precisely. Better to remain in her old dormitory room, go show that she does not intend to lord over the masses and her reign will be different. Which it will be.” Hubert was always so certain, so sure of himself and his path. “Since then it has sat idle, visited only by those who need a moment of solitude. Still, this is a rather pleasant view, and I am sure that with your botanical skills the garden will be revitalized in little time.”

“So you’re going to open it up to everyone?” Bernadetta whined. Ugh, and she had just found a nice quiet spot away from everyone, complete with a little gardening project!

“Right now, no,” Hubert hastily reassured her. They’d made it back inside, where he could more thoroughly kiss her out of sight from anybody who thought to look up. “But in time, that is one of four possibilities. Other possibilities included turning her room into a memorial of sorts, to help prevent such gross excesses from happening again. Of course there is also merit in just letting it rot away unseen. There is a certain vindictiveness in letting the Archbishop’s iron grip rust away and be forgotten in just a few generations.” Hubert paused. “And sometimes I am seized with the desire to indulge in some harmless pettiness and show my utter contempt for the Church by destroying the place.”

There was something about the way Hubert said that last sentence that made Bernadetta shiver. Maybe it was the way his spindly fingers clutched her waist, or his warm breath tickling her ear. 

Or maybe it was because both of them happened to be staring at the very large, very plush-looking, and very unused bed of the archbishop when Hubert mentioned trashing the place as a special little fuck you. 

They’d been dating for a while, and sleeping together for a decent chunk of that. Turned out that the ever present threat of dying in battle tended to help desire override panic. And after that first awkward fumbling time, when they were both sweaty and sated and apologized to the other for not being much of a looker and then reassured the other that they were absolutely beautiful, well...it was nice. Really, _really_ nice, actually. And the world didn’t end. And Bernie woke up the next day pretty much the same Bernie that she was before going to bed with Hubert. So sex became something between them that was pretty frequent and a lot of fun. 

Screwing in someone else’s bed though, even (or perhaps especially) that of their hated enemy hiding out in Faerghus, was another matter entirely. And yet it was something that sent a secret shameful thrill through her. And something that would, without question, give Hubert a significantly less secret or shameful thrill. 

Perhaps it was that which gave Bernadetta the courage to air, out loud, the utterly filthy laundry in her head. “Uh, Hubert, about utterly destroying the place...There’s nobody here. And that bed looks really soft…?

Oh no, she could _see_ Hubert’s pencil-thin eyebrows climb higher with every word. And the way he muttered, “My _my,_ Bernadetta, I didn’t know you had it in you.” Oh this was a terrible idea he probably thought she was some sort of freak!

“I’m sorry Hubert, this was a terrible idea I won’t bring it up again I—”

She stopped talking, because Hubert had placed a finger to her lips. A bare finger, charcoal-black and slightly roughened from dark magic’s recoil, but warm and his. And bare, because he had taken off his gloves and folded them into his pocket. “If she thinks we are little more than beasts, then let us mark our territory. I can’t think of a better way to show the church just what we think of them,” he purred.

So he did think this was a good idea. A really good idea, judging by the way his pupils were blown wide, even the one barely visible under his fringe of hair. Bernadetta pressed that scarred-dark hand to her lips and smiled, swallowing down the panic. She turned back to the bed and, slowly, made her way over to it. “You know, apparently Rhea used to talk to Byleth in her bedchambers.”

Hubert paused. “Bernadetta, that is incredibly disturbing and also not something that I would like to think about right now. The only person I want to think about in the context of this bed is you, and perhaps how much we would infuriate that witch.”

Bernadetta sat down on the bed and set to taking off her boots, tossing them somewhere in the room with a thud. Hubert was there next to her, those long wonderful fingers playing over the sensitive nape of her neck, ghosting down the front of her chest, a teasing hint of what would come next. Her breath stuttered at the slight pressure of his fingers, and stuttered again as the clasps popped loose and cool air fluttered in under the now-open part of her dress. “I wonder if we’re the first to use this bed to, you know…”

“I doubt it, given the frightening amount of slavish devotion some of her knights gave her. Like Catherine. ‘Lady Rhea! I’ll do anything for you, Lady Rhea! Let me lick your boots and kill for you, Lady Rhea!’” Hubert paused. “I suppose that is a bit hypocritical, coming from me.”

Her boots kicked off somewhere in the room and her dress half-undone, Bernadetta was lost in a fit of giggles at Hubert’s terrible impression of Catherine. “Maybe a little bit. But you have gotten better! Uh, I mean, not that it was a problem before!” Stop it Bernie!

But Hubert echoed her earlier laugh with his own darker one, made sure to keep his face as soft as he could until the rising worry settled back down. “Perhaps Ferdinand is capable of useful advice every once in a while.” A pause. “Don’t ever tell him I said that by the way.” 

More giggles, with a slightly hysterical edge to them. “I won’t, I promise.” And they were kissing again, his hands sweeping over her now bare shoulders, her hands still tangled in his fine, slightly greasy hair. Felt his breathing turn harsh when she tugged, just a little bit, the way Hubert liked it. Felt herself lean back against the pillows as the heat of desire within slowly began to smolder and catch flame. 

Hubert had fallen into his old habits, as gentle and reverent as always, one hand cupped against the swell of her breast and the other one gently working off her stockings while she fumbled against the nearly-invisible clasps of his cloak. Bernadetta fought against the urge to lay back and let Hubert take care of her, luxuriate in the warmth of his touch and the plush softness of this bed.

Lady Rhea’s bed. Holy shit what the fuck were they thinking?! She and Hubert were about to _fuck_ in the Archbishop’s bed! The same archbishop who…

Who was secretly a giant terrifying dragon-thing who tried to kill Byleth for not executing Edelgard on her command. Who ruled not through love or respect but obedience and fear. Who started the crest system that made monsters like her father who ruined her life and did _nothing_ to fix it.

Bernadetta surged upwards, grabbed a surprised Hubert by the collar, and yanked him down into a crushing kiss.

The fear evaporated, her desire and want and _need_ stoked into a burning flame as she tore off his cloak, undid his belt, and kissed him again and again, their tongues curling against each other as they drew moans and sighs from the others’ throats. Hubert broke away from the kiss, drawing a whimper of loss from her throat that cut short when he pulled down her dress and let her breasts burst up and expose themselves to the open air. With no preamble, just a hungry look and a whisper of, “Absolutely gorgeous,” Hubert pressed his face between her breasts, burying himself against her chest. His hands curled up against her, their ashen hue contrasting against the cream of her skin, his tongue warm and wet against her sternum and then—

Bernadetta gasped, falling back into the sensation of Hubert kissing and sucking her breasts, tongue darting over a peaked nipple. The look in his eyes as he glanced up at her, grinned with a flash of canine, and slowly dragged his tongue across the pebbled flesh was obscene in the best possible way, and she couldn’t help but let out a moan.

His hands vanished and she followed them, fervently undoing his cloak, peeling away the layers of skin to see Hubert, his scrawny figure with all the scars from years of battle and service and devotion. Dedicated to Edelgard, but given over to her. She could see the rise and fall of his chest, the way sweat already began to shine on his shoulders, the way his breath quickened as she kissed his neck, sucked a bruise into the dip between neck and shoulder. And then quickened again as she played _her_ fingers down his chest and stopped just above the waistband of his pants.

“Bernadetta,” Hubert groaned as he bucked against her teasing touch, arousal burning away her anxiety, reflexively tried to grind the growing bulge in his pants up against her hand. 

She did this to him. She made Hubert flushed and hard and groaning for more, made Hubert loosen the control that he always chained tight enough to snap. She, with her panic and shrieking voice, her washed out complexion and old rope scars, could please Hubert, make him want more of her. It was a heady thought that could make her dizzy, no less thrilling this time than the first. 

She wanted—no, needed—to see him. All of him. But just as Bernadetta dipped her fingers into his now-unbuckled trousers, just as she felt the first trace of hot hard flesh against her fingers, Hubert groaned and, taking her panties with him, pulled himself away.

And dropped to his knees. 

Hubert was a loyal servant; that was where he found joy and meaning and purpose. This...was another way for him to serve, to please and satisfy her. Bernadetta groaned. She wanted him, could feel the growing pull deep in her, the instinctual cry for his cock (or something, anything cock-shaped) in her, even though she couldn’t get off from penetration alone. And also, even as much as her body ached for it, she still couldn’t actually take Hubert without getting off first. Only then could she be relaxed enough for him. They were working on it, or rather they _would_ if Hubert didn’t so greatly enjoy making her come apart with those scarred fingers or his silver tongue. 

Hubert kissed up her legs, slow and teasing, leaving cruel nips as he slowly worked her legs apart and even more slowly made his way to where she needed him most. Bernadetta moaned in anticipation as he pressed his lips above the crease of her knee, ground down against the bunched-up sheets and left a damp smear against the fabric. 

“Perfect,” Hubert breathed, and he was _so tantalizingly close_ , hot breath ghosting against the purple curls shielding her folds and entrance, “Absolutely perfect. The monastery is ours. This world is ours. She will _never_ have it back.”

Never. The world was theirs. The future was theirs. She would never be tied to a chair again, and neither would future generations. 

Hubert worked her legs further apart, gently spread her outer folds apart to reveal the rest of her, wet and wanting, and spent far too long just staring in reverence. 

_“Hubert!”_ she whined, bucking up against empty air, grinding against his fingers in the vain hope that they’d slip just a couple of centimeters to where she needed his touch most, begging for his fingers or mouth or anything to feed the unbearable need burning through her. 

“So needy,” he teased, and then his mouth was on her.

If Bernadetta had to choose, Hubert eating her out was probably her favorite thing for him to do. He had gotten so good at this over the past several months. Hubert’s head rocked slightly, a mop of black hair between her legs and oh she wished she could _see_ what he was doing, see the way he licked the underside of her clit, danced his wet tongue along the sensitive tip that peeked out from its hood as her arousal grew, took it into his mouth to suck and draw out her desperate cries. Wished she could see, not just feel, the way he slipped one finger, then two inside her, working them in and out of her in time with the laps of his clever tongue, curled them against a rough patch inside her that she was never quite able to reach by herself with her shorter fingers but made her jerk and gasp with every brush against it. She wanted to see him, wanted to see the glint in his eyes or the way his face pressed against her, but it was too much. Bernadetta slowly fell back against the bed, bucking her hips up into Hubert’s mouth, lacing her fingers through his hair as he licked and sucked and kissed at her clit and slit and folds.

And then Hubert withdrew his fingers, grabbed her thighs (she could feel the dampness against her skin), pulled himself even closer against her, and began to fuck her with his tongue. 

It was so different than his fingers or his cock, smaller and thinner but so, so wet and dextrous. He was able to reach the edge of that little rough patch in her and lave at it in ways that even his fingers couldn’t quite manage. Every swipe of Hubert’s tongue sent Bernadetta bucking against his mouth, released another gush of arousal that Hubert eagerly drank down. She was close, she was so close, could feel it from the frantic thrusting of her hips, the ache growing taut in her, the way she was vaguely aware of tightening her grip on Hubert’s hair, the way she—

Hubert slipped a thumb inside Bernadetta to collect her wetness, then rubbed the pad of that thumb against the needy bud of her clit while teasing his tongue inside her and—

 _“Hu-aahhh!!!”_ She came with a gasp of his name, clutching his hair and clamping her thighs against his head as she flooded his face. And he _kept going_ , licking at her and chasing the jerk of her hips and the pulsing of her core until his face was smashed against her curls, all but smothering himself against her until she went oversensitive and had to bat him away.

Which Bernadetta didn’t fully realize until she drifted back into her body, her legs went slack, and Hubert bolted upright gasping for air. His face was red and completely soaked with her arousal, and...oh _no_ , were there bruises around his ears? 

The calm drifting feeling faded, leaving Bernadetta flailing mid-air as she stammered out, “Hubert I am so, so sorry are you okay I didn’t hurt you did I we don’t ever have to do that ag—mmph!”

Hubert cut her off not with a finger, but his lips as he kissed her with a raw, hungry need that she was still a bit too languid to answer in full. One hand pressed her mouth to his so she could more thoroughly taste herself, sharp and salty, and the other pulled off his smallclothes and finally let his cock bob free. 

He pulled away and _oh._ Hubert’s smallclothes had a wet smear on them from his own arousal, but his cock was...Hubert tended towards the long and narrow side of things in, ah, aspects, at least from the books Bernadetta read and the pictures she had secreted under her mattress long ago, but she hadn’t seen him this hard in months, almost vertical against his stomach, veins straining up against the smooth skin, head rosy red and visibly dripping precum. Bernadetta’s fingers twitched for a feel and her mouth watered for a taste. She needed him in her, now, _ached_ for it in a primal wordless way. 

She looked up at him, all thin bony angles and sharp cheekbones, handsome and _hers._ Hard to believe that he considered himself ugly. Underneath the creepiness and gloom he actually cared so much. “You’re really handsome,” she murmured, anticipation cutting through the afterglow as she let her legs fall apart a little more, the air cool against the slickness that soaked her thighs and the sheets as she opened up for him.

Normally Hubert would reply with a sarcastic comment, maybe some retort about the competition. But instead he was silent, looked almost...lost. He waved a hand vaguely at himself. “I...Bernadetta, you’re joking, right?”

Okay, maybe this wasn’t the best time to say that, what with the fact that Hubert was rock-hard, hair thoroughly mussed in every direction, and covered in his sweat and her come. Actually, he looked so silly (and yet so painfully beautiful) that Bernadetta couldn’t help but laugh as she explained, “I’m serious! Okay, okay, you’re not as classically handsome as someone like Sylvain—”

“Gee, thanks. Nice to know who the competition is,” Hubert mumbled, relieved to be treading on familiar ground again. 

“Stop it! It’s not like that!” She jabbed at his chest. “No, but seriously Hu, you are really handsome. Sure you act all scary but you didn’t have to spend all that time with me. You didn’t give up on me like so many other people would have. You really do care, and you listen to me, and...and I find that really handsome. Also you do look really, um, sexy, in a sort of shadowy way? Even right now!”

Hubert went silent again, but in a different way this time, his breath harsh and his pupils blown wide. And when he did speak, it was with an equally harsh, “Bernadetta? You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I need to be inside you _right now._ ”

Bernadetta couldn’t help but grin as she fell back onto the pillows, shifted her body to create a perfect Hubert-shaped notch, a place for him next to her embroidery and plants and everything else she loved. And Hubert, clever loyal Hubert, scrambled up to run one rough scarred hand over her face as she felt the smooth head of his cock brush against her entrance. It was all too easy to cant her hips up, let him slide in and fill her. 

And slide really was the proper term. She was so wet, and he was so hard (she never would have thought Hubert would enjoy that so much, being smothered by her, and made a mental note to try it again later) that it only took seconds for him to bottom out, for her body to sigh in relief at finally being stretched and filled. And then there was Hubert, on her, around her, in her, oh so gentle as he gathered her up in his arms, ran his hands along every scar old and new, murmured almost inaudible, “Oh, Bernadetta, you’re so _warm_.”

And then Hubert began to move, and all Bernadetta could feel was him, hot and hard and absolutely sublime as he thrust in and out of her. Slowly at first, long strokes of his cock in her so they could luxuriate in the feel of each other, then faster and faster as instinct took over and they both chased their release. 

“You don’t know,” Hubert groaned, every word accentuated with another roll of his hips against hers, “How long I’ve fantasized of doing this, Bernadetta. Just how long I’ve— _nngh!_ —wanted to take you on this very bed. Watch you squirm, make you _scream—_ ” his hand skimmed down to the juncture of their bodies; he rubbed _there right there yes yes yes!_ and she did just that, a high-pitched echo throughout the room, “—Show Rhea and the Church just what we think of them. This was that beast’s—haaa—nest, let’s make it absolutely filthy with just how much I, ah, aah, I love you, Bernadetta.”

Even when he kissed her in hidden places where none could see, Hubert almost never said things like that. His words of endearment were hidden away under backhanded compliments, and more than often were mistaken as threats for those who did not know. But Bernadetta knew, now. Only a Hubert completely untethered by lust would say things like that, that he loved her, so openly. But even if his mind was filled with her as much as she was filled with him in every possible way, the words and thoughts were real and, and he kissed her again and again and _again_ , sloppy kisses sucking on her neck and collarbone punctuating every slam of her hips against his and every thrust of his cock deep in her. The sounds filling the room were obscene and yet she wanted to hear them forever. His panting growls, her whimpers as she begged for more. The creaking of the bedsprings, the wet slap of skin on skin, her gasps whenever Hubert thrust just right inside her, the rustling of bedsheets, the sloppy wet sound coming faster and faster as that tension slowly built once more and, and, “Hubert….gonna, gonna come…” 

“Me, haaaah, me too,” he growled, clenching his hands against her back and fucking her faster. 

Oh, Bernadetta wanted that, wanted so badly to feel that little pool of warmth as he spilled deep in her, hear his ragged voice fill the Archbishop’s room, but...but...then his mess would be inside her and sure it would dribble out eventually, but her body was greedy for all of Hubert and some of it would stay.

And she didn’t want it to stay. She wanted to mark this bed. The sheer obscenity of this stripped away all anxiety, leaving behind only the filthy laundry she hid away in the deepest darkest parts of her mind where nobody could see or ever find out because it was unladylike to think things like that (except it wasn’t, it was okay). That filthy laundry that she was okay airing to Hubert because he would never ever judge, he had thought and done far worse. He would never be ashamed of or disgusted by her. 

And so, Bernadetta somehow, somehow, managed to groan out, “On the sheets.”

The look on his face! The sharp gasp as the angle changed and he went even _deeper_ and fucked her into the mattress, ramming into her again and again and _again._ She latched her legs around his, crossed her ankles just to hold on as he slammed his cock into her, fucked her so hard that the mattress creaked and the bed slammed against the wall, loud enough to echo. 

“Hubert, Hu, _Hu!!!”_

That tightly wound coil snapped and shattered as Bernadetta came screaming his name. And even as she clamped down on his cock, scrabbled at the small of his back to push him in even deeper, Hubert still kept going. Kept fucking her through the aftershocks until his own rhythm went slipshod and he forced himself to pull out. Bernadetta watched, dizzy from it all, as he stroked himself twice, groaned her name low and rough and sweet, and came all over the sheets in long spurts. 

Hubert sagged against her and they collapsed in a boneless and satisfied heap in the now wrecked sheets. Bernie drifted for a while, and when she slowly came to, when the aftershocks gently faded away…

Well, Hubert was still curled around her, skin still hot to the touch and covering as much of her as possible, his heart still beating a wild tattoo a half-step ahead of hers, his skin sticky with sweat.

And the bed…

“Well,” Hubert smiled into the nape of her neck with the satisfaction of a job well done. “We certainly left an impression.”

The bed was, in a word, wrecked. Blankets a crumpled mess, half the pillows thrown to the floor, and nearly every inch of sheets soaked through with sweat and cum that would already be staining the mattress beneath. Anybody who made their way to even the second floor stairwell below would be able to smell what they had been up to here. In the archbishop’s room. They had just fucked in Rhea’s bed, and _wrecked_ it.

The thought should have terrified Bernadetta, but she was in that wonderful post-orgasmic haze where the eternal screaming voice of panic was smothered to little more than a whisper. In fact…

“Mmmm...Hubert? Can we sleep here? It’s a nice bed…” Absolutely filthy, but still soft and comfortable and she really didn’t want to get up.

His answering chuckle would be disturbing to anyone else, but not to her. Not anymore, because he was hers. “Only if we can destroy another set of sheets when we wake.”

* * *

“What do you mean the third floor is unavailable?”

Lysithea rolled her eyes. “I mean that pretty much everyone here has an occasionally-literal axe to grind with Rhea or the church, we’re all some level of frustrated and need to blow off some steam, and most of the Strike Force is fucking like rabbits. You’re a smart boy Hubert, you can figure it out. Though it seems like you already have,” she added, unable to resist one last jab. 

Hubert was saying something, but Bernie couldn’t really parse it because _oh no oh shit they knew._ They knew what she and Hubert had done and oh Flames this was the worst and most humiliating thing to ever happen to her in her entire _life!_ Bernadetta was vaguely aware that she was blushing furiously, but only vaguely; the rest of her brain was engaged with the far more important task of weighing the pros and cons of locking herself in her room and burning it to the ground. 

More gibberish, then, “—think it’s hilarious. Actually, the whole situation is absolutely _fantastic._ I mean, I’d totally join in if I had anyone to do it with.”

Okay Bernie didn’t need to know that, _ever_. Why couldn’t she regain awareness thirty seconds later? Hubert probably felt the same way with the way he buried his face in his palm, and Lysithea was...pointing at some sort of chart?

“Dorothea did what.”

“Made a signup sheet for people to screw in Rhea’s bed. She probably started out as a joke but then people started doing it for real.”

There was, indeed, a chart behind Lysithea, with each day of the week blocked out with some very familiar initials. The chart was color coded. There were stickers. 

“Let’s see,” Lysithea continued, reveling in the opportunity to make Hubert as uncomfortable as possible while Bernadetta slowly disintegrated from embarrassment. “Today it’s Sylvain and his girl of the week, then tomorrow is blocked out for Edelgard and Byleth. Then we’ve got Dorothea and Petra, Jeritza and...I didn’t need to know that, _ever_ , then Edelgard and Byleth again huh someone’s making up for lost time good for you.”

Bernadetta joined Hubert in making that high-pitched strangled noise of horror because she didn’t need to know that, _any_ of that, _ever!_

“I...I’m gonna go to my room and never come out again.”

Maybe Yuri would help her find some quiet spot in Abyss with a soft mattress where nobody would bother them or ever find out or interrupt their private time. Even if she had enjoyed that special little fuck you. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I am really not that experienced with smut and I hope this was okay. And got some titillation from you all at least!
> 
> I've got super-long shifts the next couple of days, then I'll finally be able to finish and post my last prompt, albeit a bit late. And then it's back to the main story. Thank you all for reading and enjoying, and please stay safe!


End file.
